CHAPTER ONE As she runs along the beach, she knows it''s the last time she''ll see the mudflats at Culbin. She can''t bear to look back at the house, to search for wood smoke still unfurling into the sky like a child''s drawing. She turns instead to the sea, to this stretch of Moray coast that used to bring her comfort. Ignoring the cold, she takes off her shoes and hurries towards the water''s edge. Where the sand darkens she falters, but the sea surges on, skirting around and behind her as if determined to reach the bands of driftwood and mussel shell middens at the edge of the forest. A few metres away, the waves smack and slap against a natural causeway of sandbars; droplets fling themselves upwards into the salty air, where they hang for a moment, before squirming, finally, across the map of rippled silt below her feet. She doesn''t even notice the sensation of cold water on her toes. Her eyes are fixed now on the Firth beyond: a pewter mass, rising and falling rhythmically against the white-grey sky.
She can just see the Hippo, the rock she used to try to swim to as a little girl, four hundred metres out. He''s watching her from the treeline. She hears his voice again, calling her name. She takes a step. CHAPTER TWO They find her body on the shore on a summer afternoon. The air near the forest is fizzing with midges, so the family stay close to the water''s edge, their frisbee dipping and soaring on a gentle breeze between father, mother and son. It drifts just over eleven-year-old Jacob''s head, and he races backwards, all golden agile limbs over pale, worm-like sand, his eyes on the red disc spinning in slow motion in the air above him. He almost falls over her.
Later, the pathologist will find wounds on the top and back of her head. But Jacob, thankfully, can''t see these, for all his staring. She has short, dark blonde hair, and is very slight, dressed in a bright green bikini top, orange cotton shorts, and no shoes. Her bikini is askew, so Jacob''s dad covers her up with one of their faded stripy beach towels. Apart from his mother''s, it''s the first time Jacob has ever seen breasts. The only other signs of injury are on the girl''s toes, knuckles, and the front of her wrists - damaged so badly that waxy bones are visible, threading through blackened holes in her skin, like a plant taking root. CHAPTER THREE Dominic leaves the office just before ten, two front pages ready to go. After a livid sunset, it''s twilight in London, humid.
Joggers and lovers and the smell of street food linger on the South Bank. Lights along the bridge reflect faintly from the water, looping like pearls. Dominic sits on a bench to switch the SIM cards in his phone, and calls his father''s number. "Palmer." "Dad" - he checks himself; his dad hates infantilism at work - "Bernhard. We''re breaking the story tomorrow." "Excellent. No notice?" "She won''t know what''s hit her.
" "And legal? They''ve okayed it?" "They''ve been all over it. Trust me. It''s legit. Public interest." There''s a silence at the other end. Not a silence exactly. A slow, satisfied drawing in of air. Knowing his father, Dominic supposes it''s his late-night cigar.
Dominic fumbles in his jacket pocket and lights himself a cigarette. He''s supposed to be quitting. "Which networks?" "Exclusive to our channels for now. They''re all running it. Top story, an Examiner scoop, of course." Laughter. "Nice work. I suppose you''re allowed that indulgence.
" "And we''re sure we don''t want the focus on Brockwell? On the Courier?" "Oh, yes. Quite sure. I''m not interested in your squabbling with Brockwell and his libtard rag. Focus on Goldman. She needs to learn." "Fine." Another slow breath. "You''ve gone over the timing?" "You think it''s too early?" Dominic has been concerned about this.
"Three months?" "No. It''ll run well beyond the election. And we''ve got kindling. Those old photos from Lyall. Follow with that." They hang up. The lights on the water seem to perspire into the clammy night. Dominic stands, loosens his collar and hangs his coat over his arm, before heading back to the office.